


Trading on Thine Ice

by MissTantabis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Story, Alternate Universe, Crossover Pairing, Horror, M/M, Mysterie, Thriller, alternate storyline, slightly crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Childermass is sure that something is wrong with Lady Pole. Because Mr. Segundus does not allow him to see the young lady, the man of business decides to use a different method. Childermass summons the Goblin King, Jareth, to find out what is happening with Lady Pole. Engaging in a risky deal, Mr. Norrell's man of business gets thrown into a world of twisted magic, facades and feelings he thought he never had. However can he really trust Jareth? Is this the right way to help Lady Pole? And what about the Gentleman? He won't let his prize be taken away too easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A risky deal

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is based on a roleplay with the same title, that I have got with themadandthebroken on tumblr. This is a gift for them and I am very glad that I am allowed to turn our rp into a fanfiction. I hope, you like it.

The mare was sweating as Childermass made her stop. Her flanks trembled from her heavy breathing and her hooves were covered in dirt. The man off business patted her black neck absently as he swung down from the saddle. He grabbed her by the reigns and lead her into the stable near Hanover Square.

Childermass was furious. A few days had passed since Lady Pole had shot him and this had been the first day, where he was healthy enough to ride to Starcross Hall. He knew something was wrong with the woman. He had sensed a strong wave off magic surrounding her and it definitely had not been the magic Mr. Norrell used. He never used that kind off magic! That kind that left a dark shadow on his skin, twisted and dangerous. It had felt old, ancient. And it clouded Childermass' mind with worry.

He pulled off reign and saddle, while he dried the sweating black horse. His brows furrowed in anger. “ _ But I will not have you distressing a lady! This is where it will stop.” _ Mr. Segundus had refused to allow Childermass to see Lady Pole. She was in a state off fatigue and agony and her nerves appeared to be blank and feeble. Not to mention that people had labelled her as mad. Childermass himself had proposed to bring her to Starcross Hall instead off one of London's local asylums. The place laid away from the population and she could rest.

But Childermass still needed answers. He had hoped he could have talked with Lady Pole on the matter, but Segundus and Honeyfoot had stopped him from doing so. Well, if a direct confrontation did not work, Childermass would have to apply with an indirect confrontation. There were many ways on how people could seek information. And Childermass was determined to solve this mystery. He could not shake off the feeling that Mr. Norrell had done something bad. And he would have to fix it. By any means possible.

Childermass finished drying his mare. He pulled his hat deep in his face as he marched back into the house off Hanover Square. When the man off business almost bumped into Lucas, he snarled an apology and added: “Mr. Norrell does not require my presence in the next few minutes, right?” “No, Mr. Childermass.” The servant followed the man with his eyes as he climbed up the stairs. Even his walking circle proved that the man was bitter about something. However Lucas knew it was better not to ask questions. Childermass was a man known for weird habits and irrational actions.

Childermass entered the attic, where his sleeping quarter was. The room was just large enough to contain the most necessary things. A bed, a night stand and a box, in which the servant stored his clothes. Childermass took off his hat and hung it on the wall. He slowly peeled off his gloves as he made his way towards the night stand.

_ There is more then one way to skin a cat. _ Childermass pulled the drawer open. In it laid writing utensils, pen and paper. He carefully placed them on the desk. There hidden in the drawer's floor laid something that was most valuable to him, apart from his Cards of Marseilles. He always carried those with him.

The book, Childermass took out of the drawer, was unimpressive. It had a brown leather cover that was covered in dirt and so thine it might just fall off. The pages were yellow form the lack off sunlight and the ink was pale. And yet this small notebook contained immense power. Childermass had used the time he had watched after Mr. Norrell's library to read in the books and write out anything he considered useful. Of course his master could never know that he had done this. It would be his doom.

Childermass slowly flipped through the pages, searching for the spell he was about to use. He had never done this spell and for a good reason. There was a terrible risk involved. The man of business knew if he was not cautious and careful, it could backfire on him way too easily. Still, he needed answers! And if Lady Pole could not give them, then maybe the one he was about to call could.

The dark haired man had found the spell he was about to use. Childermass careful enlighten the candle on his night stand. Its flame gave a warm, orange glow. It trembled ever so slightly. Deliberately Childermass took an incense stick and held it against the flame. Holding it before himself, he looked down at the page and recited the formal, adding the name off the one he was about to call. Then, taking a deep breath, he blew out the flame on the incense stick.

Smoke curled around his fingers and for a short moment he just stood there. His heartbeat slowed down. Had he succeeded? Childermass was not sure. A clamping silence haunted the room, thick and heavy. The place darkened and a cold gust of wind ran through his hair. Childermass stood his ground. He looked around anxiously and waited. The window seemed to cling and the candle's flame trembled as if a large force was pressing it down.

Purple smoke emitted from the floor. Quietly grunting, Childermass jumped back.  _ It worked! _ Now he knew for sure. The smoke formed a pillar, before it slowly collapsed into itself. The man of business could hear silent steps like the one of a cat and a soft cling, cling. So it was true: He always carried a crystal ball with him.

The man that stood before Childermass seemed to be his seize. However there was something odd about him. He had a pale skin, his blue eyes were formed like the ones of a cat and had something mismatching to them, Childermass could not quite put his finger on. Long strands of pale, hay yellow hair hang around his face and shoulders. He was wearing a tight, leather suit and trousers with boots and a long cloak. The material was gleaming and covered with pearls and clasps. He even had a similar frill then Childermass wear one.

The summoned Fae took his time. He was slowly looking around, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Maybe he tried to learn more about where he was. Childermass knew from tales that he usually was not summoned in this fashion. Who knows how long it had been since someone had summoned him? Childermass did not like to think about that.

The Fae slowly kept throwing his crystal ball from hand to hand. It ran over his gloves, danced on his fingertips and palms with surprising ease. The moon light caught itself in the polished surface. The Fae finally gave Childermass his attention. He flashed him a firm smirk. “Why, 'ello, mortal”, he called, “What can I do for you on this moonlight evening?”

Childermass remained cautious. He knew Faes were dangerous. He had read many tales about them. Especially about this fellow. He was a King, King off Goblins and thus very powerful. The man of business could only hope that his circle was strong enough to keep him at bay. Goblins were tricksters and it was obvious that their king was no exception.

Childermass was known for his sense of judgement and mistrust. From the twitch off an eye, the way someone hold himself or spoke, he could learn a lot about a person. It was very hard to fool him. The man off business applied the same strategy towards the Fae.

Bopping his head, Childermass responded: “Greetings to you too, Sir. I have summoned you here, because I need answers. There is a woman I am watching over, who is acting in a very weird manner. Many people label her as mad, however I do not think that this is the case with her. I believe she is under an enchantment.”

Mr. Norrell may state that madness could not be cured by magic, but this was no madness. Childermass was sure off it. He continued: “Sadly her caretaker does not allow me to go to her. That's why I have brought you here. I want you to go to her and find out what you can. I want to know what enchantment she is under, who put it on her and if there is any way to undo what has been done.” Furrowing his brows he added: “I do not want you to make yourself known to Lady Pole or the people that surround her. You are to remain invisible.”

The Fae tilted his head and eyed him up and down. He seemed to be brooding over the spoken words. Something in them seemed to entertain him for he started to smile. Slowly stepping over the border, he stated: “You are new to summoning me, are you not? If I were you, I would tell the Fae what I do not want them to do instead off saying what I want them to do. My kind is creatures of words, summoner, and while you are very respectful, it won't save you from a blood hungry fairy.”

He stopped before Childermass and slowly lifted a hand. The man off business stiffened, not knowing what to expect. The Goblin King merely ran over his sleeve with a hand as if he wanted to see what substance the man he was called by had. “You should consider yourself lucky. I am very fond of humans, considering the fact that many off my people have been humans before.”

Childermass frowned. “Thanks, Jareth.” It was the first time he used the Fae's name in the conversation. “I shall keep your words in mind when we meet again.” Jareth froze briefly when he heard his name. He smiled and slowly toyed with his crystal ball again, making it go up and down on his palm. He eyed his reflection in it and asked: “What would be my reward if I do what you ask me to do? What would I gain from it, mortal?” Jareth looked at Childermass. “Moreover”, he continued, “How is this lady acting? You see, women are tricky. It is hard to distinguish madness from an enchantment in their case.”

The man of business kneaded his hands. He furrowed his brows. His voice was raspy as he explained: “I do not have much I can offer you. I am not a wealthy man. The only payment I can offer you is that I will release you from your summoning once you have done your service. I can also promise that I won't call you again.”

Childermass knew his words were empty. They must be hollow compared to what other people offered fairies. But they were true. He had nothing to give. He was a servant. Sure, a man who thought a lot for himself. Childermass desired information. He wanted to know what was going on. Not knowing things made him worry. But he had nothing to pay the Fae back. Unless you counted his Cards of Marseilles and he could never part with those.

To his question he explained: “Lady Pole has a plagued sleep, refuses to go to sleep and has a tendency to smash mirrors. She sometimes has fits and outbursts where she talks in tales, fairy tales to be more exact. However these words are told in a way unfamiliar to me. Whenever she speaks in these manners, one can hear bells in the distance.”

Jareth laughed and scratched his neck. “Oh, do not worry. I am sure we can find a decent payment for me.” His mismatched eyes wandered over Childermass' body like a wolf that was eyeing a possible meal. “You do not look too bad for a man your age and I always like having a lovely companion. Moreover if this is a powerful fairy who is casting the spell, you will need me again! Not summoning me would be counterproductive for your cause.”

Childermass froze. It was obvious what the fae demanded for a payment. The man of business did not regarded himself as handsome. He had a very pale skin, messy, black hair and a more or less uncombed beard or moustache. Even his clothes gave him a ragged look. Not the Prince Charming the Ladies desired.

Still, he could not go against the demand. Childermass huffed. “We will see what can be done about your payment”, the man said, “However, Jareth, I doubt I am what you are looking for.” Jareth shrugged and grinned. “Oh, I know very well, what I am looking for”, he purred, “And you may not look like it, but I want you, my dear summoner.”

Childermass sighted. There was no point in arguing about this matter. He should consider himself lucky that the fae only demanded this off him. It was a weird payment and he knew others would maybe even feel honoured, but Childermass could not care less. At least it was payable and that was all that mattered for him.

“Back to my description of Lady Pole”, stated Childermass, showing that this matter was settled for him and he even agreed with it rather reluctantly, “Do you have any idea what this is about?” Jareth touched his nose with his fingers and furrowed his brows. “It definitely sounds like there is a spell on her”, he explained, “An illusion spell maybe. I would have to see her to be sure, however the symptoms you describe tie in together very well.”

Childermass brows wandered upwards. “An illusion spell?”, he repeated, “I am not sure. Lady Pole complains her body hurting as if she had danced the entire night. And the first thing she demanded to do after her resurrection was a dance. Coincidence? I think not.”

“Resurrected?” Jareth froze at his words. “She was dead?!” His voice sounded annoyed and surprised. It looked like he was not really approving of what he had heard. “Yes, she was dead”, responded Childermass, “Died off a fever two days before her marriage. Mr. Norrell resurrected her. I do not know, how he did it. But I hardly believe he did it on his own. I know my master. He may be a good magician, but pretty please, he is not Jesus!”

Jareth laughed at his words. It was a bitter, fair, snarky laugh. “Well, you are correct to assume that, darling”, the Goblin King responded, “No human is capable of bringing the dead back to life. However there are a few fairies that can resurrect people. They are ancient and powerful beings. Most fairies do not toy with life of mortals or their death, but some do it. For the right deal. If someone is toying with your precious Lady, then the chance is very likely that this is the doing of the being that brought her back to life. If it is not your Mr. Norrell, then it is the one he has summoned to do so.”

Childermass' brows furrowed in anger and his eyes flashed. He cursed with his Yorkshire accent thick in his speech: “Mr. Norrell, you bloody imbecile! Just what have you done, you potato?” The man started to pace up and down in his anger, completely ignoring Jareth for this moment as he put two and two together.

Just what had Mr. Norrell done? If he had used a fairy to resurrect Lady Pole, then her weird behaviour was explained in no time. A fairy enchantment could clearly be labelled as madness by the common people. However what confused Childermass was the fact that this action clashed with Mr. Norrell's opinion on fairies. Mr. Norrell expressed time and time again how dangerous fairies were. He even frowned upon them. So why had he gone against his own principles? Because he wanted to bring magic back to England. With any mean possible.

Childermass stopped pacing around. He looked at Jareth. His face was grim and his words hoarse in his rage: “Do not make contact with the one that casted the spell. Do not make contact with Lady Pole. Try to find out what you can. I want to know everything. Most off all, how the enchantment works, who casted it and if there is a way we can undo it.” His voice became slightly friendlier. “You are dismissed.” And as soon as he blew out the candle, Jareth was gone.


	2. A Fair Talk

Jareth's kingdom was a weird place. It laid in Fairie like all kingdoms of the supernatural did. However it was a sandy and hot place. Reddish stone everywhere and weird corridors. Doors that would open and close without a warning. Walls that would shift. Talking objects. His goblins and other creatures, bizarre and dreamlike, that would talk nonsense, snarl and dance for his entertainment. Bizarre rules. A world that had no up and down. A world of imagination, dreams and nightmares.

Jareth was sitting in his throne room. The Goblin King was wearing his white blouse, black vest and a more comfortable looking trouser. His long, slender legs were crossed and he was half leaning on the throne. Around him the Goblins moved and chatted, doing his biddings. However Jareth did not pay attention.

His focus laid on the three crystal balls he was holding in his hands. With a gentle flick off his fingers he made them rotate around on his palm, massaging his skin. His blue eyes were fixed onto something inside them. His summoner. A young man with messy black hair, an uncombed beard and a suit that gave him a ragged look, moving through a large house, checking for trouble, assisting people in his calm, snarky demeanour.

Jareth's thoughts were at the summoning that had happened to him yesterday. It had been many years since he had last been summoned. Usually a parent or older sibling would call in despair (or annoyance) for him to take their child away. It was his usual way off getting into the mortal world.

But this...this was different. It had been many years since he had last aided a magical human. This one had been inexperienced in his summoning. However there had been something about him. Jareth had to admit: The man had surprised him. In his talking, in his mannerism. He could clearly stand his ground and definitely was not unfamiliar with magic.

The task he had given him was simple and Jareth was sure he could easily fulfil it. And then… A brief smile twitched his lips as he thought about the agreed payment. Jareth was not a particular evil Fae. He mostly did things for his entertainment. Therefore he had no intent in punishing or cursing his summoner in some cruel way. He was the kind of evil that was evil, because he was lazy and mostly bored.

Therefore the summoning had been a nice refreshment. Jareth placed one of the crystal balls on top of the other two and locked his blue eyes with his summoner's face. He could hear his faint voice through the crystal like it was very far away. That rasping tone, hoarse and sharp, but also soft and kind. Like the tongue off a cat that graced your skin.

And that accent. Jareth caught himself smiling as he rubbed over his nose with his free hand. He loved hearing his summoner's accent. It was a Yorkshire accent, sharp, raspy and smoky. Jareth had to admit: He had enjoyed seeing him angry. The accent had been even stronger then. Such an interesting accent. And such an interesting man. It had fascinated him to see his summoner so angry and Jareth wondered if he could cause his summoner to be in such a state in pleasure not in rage. He already fascinated to see his face twitch in relaxation, when a quiet cough made him look around.

Before him stood a small, elderly looking dwarf with a round head, dirty, leather like skin and a small cap. He was wearing a white pullover and a brown vest over it. His white hair seemed to be totally missing. His eyes laid deep in their caves and he had a rather grumpy look on his face, mixed with a touch off fear.

Jareth groaned, annoyed at this interrupting. “What is it, Bogart?”, he asked sitting up, elegantly balancing the crystals on his hand. “It is Hoggle, your Highness”, corrected the goblin quietly. “Yes, whatever”, responded the King and leaned forwards, “What is it,  _ Hoggle _ ?”

Hoggle twirled his thumbs nervously, before he asked: “Weren't you supposed to be doing something? Like weren't you having some sort off deal with this man?” He shrunk under Jareth's gaze. The Goblin King stood up and in a careless move dropped his crystals that turned into dirty, yellow leaves.

“Hogfarts”, responded Jareth (and got promptly interrupted by an upset “Hoggle”), “I know that I have a deal. I also intend to keep that deal. What else do you think have I been doing here?” “Eh, nothing”, guessed Hoggle.

The Fae smiled cruelly. “I never do nothing, Hiccups. I was just about to do my part off the deal.” He threw his walking stick away and picked up his cloak. While Jareth pulled it over his shoulders, he added: “And while you are already here, please make sure that my labyrinth stays intact. If I only find one stone misplaced, then I am gonna dangle your feet into the Pond of Eternal Stench.” Hoggle squeaked. “Please no”, he stammered.

Jareth swung his forefinger like a scolding parent. “Well, then you better behave yourself, Hopple.” And laughing in amusement, the Fae spread his arms. His clothing changed. Feathers grew and his cloak turned into a pair off wings. A pale barn owl flew out off the castle and headed north, aiming for one of the King's Roads.

Fairie was a strange place. It reached far and wide, connecting various kingdoms with one another. Jareth had only flown long enough until he reached the beginning of a road. There was no actual season. Just winter that had not melted into spring. The pale blue sky was clouded in mist. Frost on grass and leaves, crunching under his steps. Ice cold water that glimmered darkly.

Apart from castle ruins (and the few still standing castles), there was not much of notice. Well, except for the roads and stairs that crossed Fairie like the web off a spider. The King's Roads had been built by the legendary Raven King himself, a mortal who had been risen under fairies and achieved immortality. Or so the legends said.

Jareth liked walking over the King's Roads. He related to the winter scenario off the place, considering his affinity with crystal magic. It had its own beauty to him. Because his magic was tied to crystals, the snowy and frosty place did not scare him. Still it had been decades since he had last walked over these roads.

Jareth had his goal and was still bound to the deal with the human, a summoner of a kind unlike anything the Goblin King had ever seen. He rarely walked the roads for his magic was able to push him through the barrier that separated Fairie from the mortal world. Still he preferred walking the roads.

Jareth was not surprised to see someone else in the fog. However he stopped as he saw whom it was. Before him stood a rather tall man with marble skin, snow-white hair. He wore a green velvet west and a white blouse. His long eyebrows were carefully trimmed and his icy eyes widened in surprise as he spotted Jareth.

The Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair made a short and elegant courtesy. Nothing deep, a simple sign to acknowledge the other one's rank and title “Why, your Highness”, he said with his crystal-clear voice, that had a touch off death to it. Despite this coldness it was incredible soothing and polite. “Such a pleasant surprise. It must have been aeons since we last spoke. How have you been, Jareth?”

“The King of Lost Hope”, Jareth stated plainly and returned the courtesy. “I recall we last spoke at the ball held by the High King.” These balls were held every thousand years, so the fairies may share diplomatic connections. It was supposed to promote relationships between kings, minor and major, however most fairies regarded it as a boring event, especially the older ones who did not enjoyed each other's company. “I have been very well”, the Goblin King responded with the hint off a smile. It was cold for his eyes were not smiling. “How have you been since then, your Highness?”

“Ah, yes, I remember”, the King of Lost Hope said, “It must have been four thousand years ago, if my memories are not lieing. We have been dancing the Dance of Three Partners.” He slowly twirled his fingers. “It is a shame that I have forgotten the steps. It has been quite a pleasure. On the other hand, nowadays I hardly have enough partners for these wonderful spectacle.”

The Gentleman slowly looked Jareth up and down. His lips twitched into the hint off a smile. The eyes were as cold as the frost off the path. Both Kings had a dislike for each other and yet they remained polite and kept the etiquette high. Which was a miracle since Jareth and his goblins were not very highly regarded among other fairies.

“I have been very well, thank you, my dear fellow”, the King said, “I have selected a few new companions to join me at my balls in Lost Hope. It is always a nice change to have a new face off beauty. What have you been up to, Jareth? Bringing new children to your labyrinth? Or do you occupy your time with a new activity now?”

Jareth remembered the dance. It had been a good one. The Fae had had several dances drilled in his head when he had been younger and he always preferred the dance with more then one partner. “I'd offer you to refresh your memory on the dance, but we'd still be lacking one partner.” The Gentleman bopped his head. “I appreciate your offer, Jareth”, he said, “You are welcome to join my balls at Lost Hope if you feel like it. Maybe then you can refresh my memories on the steps.”

He gave the Gentleman another short smile, wondering what the other fairy was watching him over now. It had been several centuries since he had spoken with another fairy, however the Goblin King still remembered the game of words that all fairies played with one another. They could not even trust their own kind.

“Nothing as interesting as your activities, I can assure you. It happens so rarely I find someone who matches my tastes”, responded Jareth, looking the Gentleman over as well, “It seems a lost child has found a way to someone me outside being wished away. So now I must spend some time interacting with the boy. He is nothing but clever for such a young child to summon a Fae that does not long for blood.” He had his ways off speaking the truth and not the entire truth at all. His summoner was young in his eyes, but only because off his age, not because off his experience.

The Gentleman fell silent and seemed to wonder about something. Jareth had known that two magicians existed in England right now and he knew fully well his summoner was not one off them, despite clearly being capable off casting magic. After all otherwise he would not have been capable off summoning him in the first place.

“Well”, the Gentleman finally said with a brief smile, “then I do hope the child is worth your time, Goblin King. But I must be going. I have a meeting with one of my companions, a young man with a wonderful tanned skin.” He slowly walked passed Jareth. “Good day, your Majesty.” And the figure disappeared in the fog.

Jareth nodded. “Good day to you as well.” He watched the other one disappear in the fog. A bad feeling knotted his stomach. _Why do I have the feeling the next time I will meet him it won't be under these pleasant circumstances?_ Jareth knew a thing or two about the King of Lost Hope. He was not above rising the death if he gained something from it, especially if the dead one was a person off beauty. It worried Jareth. The Gentleman was one off the oldest and powerful fairies and he was not a king for nothing.

Jareth shook his head and started to walk again. He had to finish his end off the deal. The sight of the Gentleman had given him a very good feeling on the who, however the how and why was still clouded in mystery for him. Turning into an owl once more, Jareth left Fairie behind himself and made his way towards his summoner. The magic off the summoning had given him a very good taste off his powers and therefore the trail off magic the man had was easy to follow. Soon the owl arrived at Hannoversquare and directed his golden eyes down to find the familiar figure with his Yorkshire accent.

 


	3. Worse then what I thought

It was impressive how one assumption could change the view you had on a man. Childermass still did his duty, cleaning up the house, giving instructions, supervising the servants, delivering mail and occasionally even advised Mr. Norrell or brought him his tea and biscuits he loved eating when he took a break.

But there was some eerie feeling Childermass could not shake off. He caught himself eyeing Norrell with an uneasy feeling, not really believing what he said. Jareth's words were still in his mind. If his master had indeed summoned a fairy, then the trust between him and his man off business was clearly split.

Childermass was loyal, no one could deny that. However he was more loyal to the idea of magic, its return and what it should represent then any person. He knew he was taking sides in this situation, however the dark haired man did not know what else he could do. He had a certain moral code he followed and right now this code lead him towards Lady Pole.

Lucas was trying to place a few old bottles off milk, bread and other stained ingredients from the kitchen on a pile as Childermass slowly came strolling down the hall. He stopped as he saw the other servant struggle with his burden. “Lucas, let me do this”, he said and carefully took the large pile out of his arms. The other man sighted. “Thanks a lot, Childermass. Wait, I open the door for you.” He hurried through the corridor and let the other man out.

Childermass carefully balanced the pile off garbage on his arms, using his knee for support. He was trying to hold his breath. The next large bin was not far away from here. It was on the backside off the houses so no gentlemen got confronted with servants, carrying smelly garbage around. They all were way too clean and posh for that.

Childermass was in the middle off the backyard when a large, barn owl landed on his shoulder. The sudden and massive weight made the man stagger and he spilled his entire content. With a loud splash and clatter the bottles fell to the floor, milk fumed and mixed itself with the bread. Childermass stumbled backwards to avoid getting hit by the nasty wave.

“Hey”, called the man off business and angrily stopped in his tracks, “Watch it!” He turned his head and lifted an arm to shoo the owl away, however he then stopped in his movement to look closer at the bird. It had mismatching golden eyes and there laid a certain recognition and amusement in them.

“Jareth?”, guessed Childermass. The owl gave a soft shoo sound and bristled its feathers. The eyes blinked slowly. Jareth softly gave Childermass a squeeze with his claws. The man off business tiptoed around his milk-bread-pool and walked into the nearest alley. Once they were clearly out off sight, the owl flew from his shoulder, turned around in mid-air and transformed himself back into Jareth.

The Goblin King was wearing a white shirt with loose sleeves and a black vest. His grey trouser reminded Childermass off velvet and he had to avoid a cringe when he realized how thin it was. It showed every feature off the king, especially a certain part between his legs. Luckily Childermass was rather asexual. If Jareth had hoped to woo him in that outfit then he had caught a dead fish.

“Why”, purred Jareth and bowed politely, “Hello again, my dear summoner.” He eyed the place with disdain in his face. The alley was dirty and wet. The light off the sun threw brown shadows on the walls and cold fog clamped itself in their clothes.

“I have the knowledge you wanted to find out about”, explained Jareth, “However you won't like it.” _Great, just great._ Groaning, Childermass rolled his eyes. “I feared that”, he grumbled, “Norrell, I swear, if I have to clean this mess for you, I am probably gonna go as mad as an ape.” He shook his head to clear his mind. He knew what he had been getting himself into. Well, he hoped so.

Slowly leaning against the damp wall, Childermass crossed his arms and lowered his head. Dark eyes glowered at Jareth's mismatched pair off blue. “What have you found out?”, he asked, “Tell me, Jareth. Even though I am gonna be peeved at it.”

Jareth sighed and clicked his tongue. “I know the who”, he began, “And also probably the how. However the why… I have no idea with that.” He flicked a fuzz from his sleeve. “The who is a fairy”, explained Jareth, “The Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair. I met him before at a few social fairy gatherings. Even among Fae he is a different breed. He is very powerful, a king off his own kingdom and cares little about the balance off life and death if he disrupts it. But he loves a pretty face.”

“He is the Fae your Norrell summoned to bring that girl back to life”, continued Jareth, “She is not under some ordinary spell, but under an enchantment cast by the Gentleman himself. He has a fancy for dancing and has been enchanting various mortals throughout the years to bring them into his kingdom Lost Hope. There they dance every night.”

Jareth huffed in annoyance, before his look turned stern. “Your lady is not mad. However she has been brought back from the death and she is under an enchantment. Something like this does not go well with the mortal mind. Until this enchantment is lifted, she is going to be labelled as insane.”

“God damn him!”, shouted Childermass in his anger. His accent rasped in his throat, made it hoarse, sharp and harsh. “I definitely know more now, Jareth. And this surpasses my greatest fears. It is far worse then what I thought. Oh, Norrell, just why did you do something so stupid and plain risky?”

He began to pace up and down, his breath quickening. Jareth watched. He seemed to do not mind it being ignored. In fact Childermass' heavy, sharp accent was thrilling him. The Fae shrugged. “I do not know”, he suggested, “Maybe sheer stupidity. Why would your Norrell do something like this?” Childermass gave Jareth a short side glance. He feedeled with his gloves.

“Trust me, Jareth”, he responded, “I know Mr. Norrell very well. He is too smart to do something so stupid and not realizing it. No, he has brought Sir Walter Pole's wife back for a reason. And I fear I know that reason.” Childermass shook his head with a sigh. “Norrell may be socially awkward, however when he put his mind to some goal, he will do everything to achieve said goal. No matter what means he has to use.” He bared his teeth and stopped. “And now I have to clean this mess up for him!”

It was what Childermass was used to do. Twenty-six years were a long time and he had not been Mr. Norrell's man off business throughout all these years without being some sort of competent. He did not just handled his master's affairs, but he also protected Gilbert from bad influences, bad people, but most off all Childermass protected Norrell from himself. Therefore he saw it as his duty to do something about these events. The Yorkshire man knew Norrell did not have the guts to do anything himself regarding this tenuous matter.

Childermass stopped before Jareth. “I suppose I have to make a second bargain with you, because I will need your help once more. And I still have to settle the first one. I shall summon you in the evening to do this. Then we discuss the second one.”

The Fae flashed him a fanged smile, mischievous and playful. “I shall look forward to your summoning, my dear summoner”, Jareth whispered as he looked Childermass up and down, “But pray tell: What service do you require off me now?”

Childermass answered the question with a counter question: “Is it possible for a Fae to understand what a person says under an enchantment? If it is, I want you not to harm Lady Pole, but ask about her side off the story. Maybe we can figure the why out in this way.”

Jareth rubbed his chin. “Fae are creatures off words”, he began, “Especially those like myself. It is very likely that I will be able to understand her. However if she is being toyed by another fairy and aware off this, then she won't be too keen on me. It could be that she refuses to tell me what you desire to know.”

“Pray to the Raven King that this does not happen”, murmured Childermass. If Lady Pole indeed shut down, then they had a serious problem. “Try to do so”, explained the man of business, “but do not scare her. Lady Pole is probably the best source we have available right now. If she decides to not tell, then we are pretty stuck.”

Jareth nodded. “One more thing”, the Fae said, “Since we are entering a very serious kind of territory, I suppose you might need this.” He slowly rubbed his hands against one another and a crystal ball appeared on them. Holding the shining object towards Childermass, Jareth explained: “Should something happen beforehand or you need my aid in any way, speak my name into the crystal. If something is dangerous wrong, shatter it.”

Childermass slowly took the object. The ball was surprisingly light. Weighting it in his hand, Mr. Norrell's man of business responded: “Very well, Goblin King.” In a swift and subtle move he stored the gift in his pockets. Childermass made a short and respectful bow. “We shall see each other in the evening.” Placing his hat back on his black hair, he walked passed the Fae, which transformed into an owl and flew away. Childermass did not noticed this however for he re-entered his master's house.

 


	4. Lady Pole's full statement off the cause

Starecross Hall laid more or less in the middle off nowhere in Yorkshire. Hidden from the buzzing off the world and gawking spectators, it was the perfect place to be an asylum. The house was old, almost ancient and was surrounded by a pleasant garden, containing several wild flowers, that flavoured the air with a variety off smells.

The building itself was large and imposing. However age had darkened the walls and plants had grown over the stones. Windows were partly hidden behind curtains, however if they were pulled back, they revealed a large hall, the entrance hall. The iron fence completed the atmosphere off a remote, mysteries yet rather comfortable location.

It was this place that Lady Pole had to call her home. After her failed attempt to kill Mr. Norrell and thus punish him for his crime against her, her fate had been in the balance. Her husband, Sir Walter Pole, could no longer just call her indisposed, for no sickly person would ever attempt to murder the greatest magician off the century. They had to come to the terms that Emma had to be mad.

This first weak after her assassination Emma had been plagued with fear and worry. Where would they bring her? A mad house? Not Bethlam! Anything but Bethlam! This place...it was not secure, not good for anyone's health. The mad people there...they were like a spectacle in a circus. Anybody with a bit off cash could look at them. Emma had vowed to herself: If Walter was about to bring her to this place, she would throw herself out off the window off her house. She'd rather be dead, then live in Bethlam.

Luckily it had never come to that. John Childermass, the man whom she had shot, had taken care off her. He had written letters and used his connection with many people to bring her to a place remote and quiet, where she was safe. Where some kind off recover was possible.

This place had been Starecross Hall and the man, whose care she was under now was John Segundus, another magician. First Emma had been very, very mistrustful about this issue. Her condition had caused her to loathe magicians. Especially those that were connected to Mr. Norrell in any way.

Therefore she had been a real burden for her caretakers, Segundus and Honeyfoot. However after they had protected her from Mr. Childermass, who had been inquiring about her, Lady Pole had opened up. Maybe this place was not as bad as she had feared. In fact anything compared to Bethlam was a blessing. Maybe luck had been on her side just this one time.

Emma was sitting in her room upstairs. It was a nice room. Through the large window fell sunlight, painting warm shadows on the furniture. A large, comfortable bed was standing near the door. It had velvet curtains, so her body was shielded from view when she slept. Not that anybody visited her anyway. 

The carpet under her feet was comfy and soft. It was simple, but this went well with the cupboard, table and chair. Emma almost always sat in the chair. The curse upon her tired her out in a very specific way. The nights she was forced to dis-dance her shoes. A heavy weight always laid on her and stole her sleep. Her sleep was fitful for she was forced to spend the nights in another world.

Therefore Emma did not walk much. Instead she used to sit in the chair, calmly nestling into the back off it and watching the world go by. Occasionally she would take a biscuit or another sweet Mr. Segundus or Mr. Honeyfoot brought her. They did everything to help their charge and Lady Pole felt safe in their care.

Emma was watching the birds fly by. A large barn owl bashed close to the window. The sickly woman tensed and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Leaning forwards, she eyed the bird that carefully landed on the sims, folding its wings.  _ Owls do not fly during the day. _

For a brief moment Lady Pole was tempted to call for Mr. Segundus to chase this cryptic creature away (for it clearly was not an ordinary owl), when she spotted the letter at its leg. Emma tilted her head in silent curiosity. This was odd. Usually pigeons were used to carry messages from places to places. But this person had used an owl. Why would they do that?

Curiosity triumphed over fear. Slowly standing up, Lady Pole approached the barn owl. She opened the window just enough to get the letter. The animal fluttered its wings, but it remained silent. Almost as if it knew, it could only come in if she allowed it in.

Emma unrolled the small parchment and started to read. It said:  _ Dear Lady Pole and greetings to you. My name is Jareth, the Goblin King, and I am the owl you see before yourself. Please before you make your judgement (for I know you have good reasons to mistrust Faes), hear me out. I have heard about your unfortunate condition and I am here to help you. My summoner knows about what happens with you and he is as displeased as I am about this turn off events. Please allow me to come in and answer a few off my questions, so we may ease what troubles you. Yours, respectfully and kindly, Jareth the Goblin King. _

As soon as Lady Pole had finished reading this note, she opened the window. Backing away towards the door, ready to flee if this was a trick, she watched the owl fly into her quarters and turn into a handsome man with long, messed up hay-yellow hair and a glimmering, black outfit and leather trousers.

Jareth smiled at her. It was a canine and charming smile. The mismatched eyes reminded her off a cat. They sparkled amused and curiously. “You are the Goblin King?”, Lady Pole guessed and when he nodded, the questions left her lips fast and in a hurry: “Who sent you? I doubt it was Mr. Norrell. He does not care about my fate and the dark part he played in it. It has to be somebody else. Was it Mr. Strange? Speak, please!”

Jareth chuckled. “It was neither off them. I have been summoned by a man who works for Mr. Norrell. His servant. He has yet to tell me his name, however he is very concerned about what is happening with you and he tries everything in his power to find out who has harmed you in such way and why.”

He slowly crossed his arms behind his back. “He asked me to find out the who, how and why.” Jareth tilted his head. His voice was gentle and calm. Like a mentor, lecturing a student, like a parent, comforting a child. “I have found out the who, however I cannot explain the how and why. If you could tell me your side off the story, this could help a lot. What was the reason you were brought back to life? What do you remember off it? What is your part off the tale?”

Emma eyed Jareth up and down. Having been forced to spent nights in the dancing hall off a Fae had thought her a good sense for these creatures and from the way Jareth spoke, he spoke honestly. Lady Pole said: “You must mean John Childermass. I know no other servant off Mr. Norrel that has the capability or will to summon a fairy.” Already the fact that Childermass was the one behind this calmed her a lot.

Emma slowly graced her lips with her fingers. Unknown to her the Fae could very clearly see the dark red, blossoming rose that laid straight in her mouth. The thorns stitched into her lips, making them bleed. The sign off the Gentleman's enchantment.

“I appreciate that he tries to help me”, Lady Pole said, “He may be a shady man off business, however his sense off justice is right and truthful. I will try to answer your questions, Sir, but be aware that there are a few things I cannot talk about. I shall still try to give you something you can work with to the best off my capabilities.”

Emma slowly walked back to her chair and sat down. Sighing, she leaned herself back and closed her eyes, trying to order her thoughts. When Lady Pole continued speaking, it was as if she caught the words from very, very far away. As if even her own memories were clouded and she stood behind a veil, trying to remember the shapes and their meaning.

“I died two days before my marriage”, explained Lady Pole, “I had a very bad fever that was in its final stages. Nobody cared to inform me about it being so ill-standing for me.” She cupped her chin with forefinger and thumb. “I don't remember much about my resurrection”, admitted Emma, “Only bits and pieces that come to me in dreams. A conversation, I do not remember even half off it. However two phrases stand out the most. 'This young woman would be a charming companion.' and 'Half a life is better then none at all'. I first did not understand what was meant by this. But now I do.”

Emma leaned herself forwards and as she continued to speak, one could hear the fair ringing sound off bells: “There was once a boy, who would always draw cats on books, on walls, on paper, on everything. His teacher, a priest, gave up on him, stating he should leave and find another profession. The boy left. He came to a large cathedral with walls as white as snow and immediately started to draw cats. Then the night came and the boy woke up from a weird sound. Something was moving in the cathedral, large and dangerous. He hide in a broom closet… When the boy...returned in the morning, he found a large, ratlike monster, laying in the room. His cats...had paws and maws covered in blood...”

Emma whimpered and pressed her hands against her forehead. Trying to catch her breath, she whispered: “I am very sorry. This is not what I meant to say.” Lowering her hands, she saw Jareth taking a handkerchief and softly removing the blood from her lips.

“I understand”, Jareth said softly. It was hard to read his face. He seemed to be disgusted, angry and deeply hurt at the same time. “At least one of your phrases rings one bell quite loudly”, he added and nodded darkly. “I know the tale you talked about”, he added, “One of my children loved this story.” He chuckled. “I suppose this either means I have to be aware off boys who paint or off drawn cats.”

He was trying to lighten the mood. Emma smiled wiry, even when this hurt her. “Is there else anything else you can tell me?”, asked Jareth with a smile, “Because otherwise I must leave before I am noticed.”

Lady Pole shook her head. “I doubt that, Sir. I could try to voice what troubles me, but I would be voicing tales yet again. I have been trying to tell other people about my condition, but to no avail. I always failed.”

Emma looked him up and down. Her pale face showed a faint glimmer off determination. “I do not know what kind off Fae you are”, admitted the woman, “I only hope Childermass knows what he is doing. However I trust his judgement. But I warn you” - she bite down hard on the rose, drawing more blood, which leaked out off the corners off her mouth - “if this is a trap, if you try to harm me or him in any way, I will tell Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot.” It was an empty thread, however this would not stop her from voicing it.

Jareth rolled his eyes at the thread, but smiled at her. “Do not try to fight the spell for now.” The Goblin King cleaned the blood off her lips once more. “I wish I could help you, however my hands are bound. The one that holds you in his grip is powerful and I cannot do anything without him noticing it. For now. But do not worry. Help will come your way. But for now you have to be patient.”

Emma Pole carefully nestled into her chair. “Tell Mr. Childermass one more thing. If he ever feels the need to talk with me, he is very welcome at Starecross Hall.” She slowly closed her eyes. “Now please leave. The evening is arriving and I am trying to ready myself for what is to come.” “I will tell him that”, Jareth said, “Good luck, little one. You will need it.” She heard the owl's wings bashing the air as he flew out off the window and made his way back to London. Then silence engulfed her. But Emma knew it soon would be replaced by heartache, laughing off pearled voices, violins and harps and a bitter taste off ash and blood in her mouth.


End file.
